Oak Spring 



horse country, and our nags know this as well as we. 

 They smell the mustangs, an would break their necks 

 to get away. Satan and the sorrel were ten miles 

 from camp when I found them this mornin . An 

 Jim s cayuse went farther, an we never will get him. 

 He ll wear his hobbles out, then away with the wild 

 horses. Once with them, he ll never be caught 

 again.&quot; 



On the sixth day of our stay at Oak we had 

 visitors, whom Frank introduced as the Stewart 

 brothers and Lawson, wild-horse wranglers. They 

 were still, dark men, whose facial expression seldom 

 varied; tall and lithe and wiry as the mustangs they 

 rode. The Stewarts were on their way to Kanab, 

 Utah, to arrange for the sale of a drove of horses 

 they had captured and corraled in a narrow canon 

 back in the Siwash. Lawson said he was at our 

 service, and was promptly hired to look after our 

 horses. 



&quot;Any cougar signs back in the breaks?&quot; asked 

 Jones. 



&quot; Wai, there s a cougar on every deer trail,&quot; 

 replied the elder Stewart, &quot; an two for every pinto 

 in the breaks. Old Tom himself downed fifteen 

 colts fer us this spring.&quot; 



&quot; Fifteen colts ! That s wholesale murder. Why 

 don t you kill the butcher? &quot; 



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